


Aegishjalmr

by AsterRoc, Eustacia Vye (eustaciavye)



Series: The Serpent's Skin [3]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Gen, Pre-Avengers (2012)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-30
Updated: 2019-08-30
Packaged: 2020-07-10 19:36:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 17,292
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19911079
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AsterRoc/pseuds/AsterRoc, https://archiveofourown.org/users/eustaciavye/pseuds/Eustacia%20Vye
Summary: Loki gave up the world of her heart and became a man again. In this form, he was best suited to guide armies toward a different path, allowing him to finally be a King. If he could keep himself together in the face of devastation and menace. If he could truly be the God of Lies and bend others to his will.If.





	Aegishjalmr

Loki was falling through the Void, despair and loss defining everything. Oh, there was certainly plenty of hatred and self loathing, that was always there. Loki could never really get far away from those feelings, no matter what form this body took. Loki knew that the feminine was familiar and comfortable and _home,_ but Asgard had never accepted that. On Asgard, Loki had to be _he,_ had to embrace the masculine and the danger and the violence of it, never mind that it all was anathema to everything that Loki wanted to be. Loki wanted to be true to herself, wanted to be the best woman that she could be, but it could never be allowed. Being on Metian had helped to bring that out of her, and _she_ had been wanted and loved and accepted for everything that she was. Having that family and familial love with Faelan had been wonderful, everything she had wished for, so of course it had to be ripped away so cruelly.

Perhaps not so cruelly. Faelan, bless him, was willing to shoulder the potential terrors that would fall upon his world that Loki had scried. But Loki couldn't put Metian at risk, couldn't have Faelan and the triplets fall prey to death. She would rather become _male_ again, would rather become everything that was awful and terrible in her memories, would rather face the emptiness and terror of the Void again.

She escaped death, but apparently, she couldn't dodge it forever.

So Loki moved through the Void, putting all thoughts of Metian and Faelan and her feminine self into a lock box. Instead, Loki dug deep into memories of maleness and masculinity from childhood, the feelings of wrongness threatening to overpower and choke everything. Loki had to be _he,_ had to be everything that he hated. It didn't matter what Loki wanted, this was what had to happen, this was the only way to save everything that Loki had grown to love.

Hate. This was all he had to think about as he fell through the Void. Hatred and fear and misery, all of the negativity that he had tried to push away for so long. Thoughts coiling and snaking in on themselves, Loki found himself focused on the unfair practices of Asgard. That helped focus on his hate, on the male body he had to present. His gut roiled as he thought about that time, how they would take advantage of his magical skill without appreciating it. They loathed the Jotnar, and would likely kill him once the All Father's lies were revealed for all to see. There was no redeeming the Jotnar, even if Odin wanted to suddenly play pacifist. He didn't feel like a Jotunn even if his underlying biology must have been that of a runt. Or had Odin and Frigga changed that about him as well? Was he supposed to be larger and stronger than he actually was, and they'd bound up his power to more palatable limits? Or was this why Loki felt more at home as a female? He didn't know anything about the Jotnar culture or physiology, after all. What if he'd actually been a Jotun female, and the male Asgardian shape had been grafted onto the body for their convenience?

No matter the origins of his monstrous, traitorous form, Loki hated it and hated Asgard for putting him into it.

Full of anger and spite, Loki pulled on the threads of his magic. The sense of terror and doom from the scrying spell had been tattooed along his heart, even if he hadn't known exactly how to attack it. Working fate had never been his strong suit, but now too many lives depended on it. He had to lose everything he had ever wanted to be, the feminine and natural soul that he had found on Metian, and it _burned._ It was torture, it was living death, and he couldn't even think of failure if this didn't work.

He thought of the danger and death, and twisted his free fall through the Void into an actual trajectory, even if he didn't know the name of the place. All he knew was that someone calling himself "The Other" was at the center of it.

Loki fetched up on an asteroid training facility. Though it wasn't familiar, he knew that this was where he had to be. He had seen an image that felt like poison, making him feel ill when he landed. This facility was part of the madness related to Thanos, all but ruled by the Other, a creature that constantly was looking for worlds to conquer. Thanos courted Death and destruction in a misguided environmentalist crusade, and Loki would never allow the world of his heart to be among those conquered lands. While he had seen in his scrying that Thanos sometimes collected survivors of his targeted worlds to "raise" as his children, that gave him no comfort. They were few and far between, and that life was hardly better than death.

It was little better than a gilded cage, a war trophy on display to demoralize enemies. In that sense, Thanos was no better than Odin at all.

This part of the galaxy was so distant that the worlds of Yggdrasil weren't even part of his notice. That was going to change now, and Loki couldn't regret that. The world and children of his black and damaged heart had to remain safe at all costs, and he _hated_ Asgard enough just then that its protectants were fair game.

The Other was a foul, ugly creature with an aura that warped and mutilated the _spá_ around him. It was almost as if magic simply died in proximity to him, but that was mere fancy. The Other's ashen and gray skin carried nothing special on it to actually kill magic, though there was always the myth of monsters with six fingers and toes feeding on souls. Seeing it in the flesh reminded Loki of the horrible tales he'd heard while growing up.

Jotnar were real, however different from the tales they had been. Perhaps the kind of creature the Other was would be different from tales as well.

Somehow, Loki didn't think he would be so lucky.

He had been lounging in a bathing pool when Loki landed, and now rose up to full height and stature, uncaring of his naked state. His body was scarred and twisted, gnarled tissue twisting around his torso in patterns that almost resembled protection runes. Loki doubted that was deliberate, as the runes were off enough to be useless, but rather were the work of untold battles and torture sessions under a vigorously brutal master. 

Loki was trying not to think of Thanos, but he was swiftly becoming aware of the futility of that particular plan. He tried to take comfort in the fact that he was wearing his gold and leather armor, spells woven into the very threads and stitches holding it all together. His helm, in all its golden glory, extended outward in elegantly curved horns. As decorative as they were, they also made efficient weapons to impale or slice others if he used his helm. That was only as a last resort, given that he had his two dozen small knives embedded into his armor plus the various sets that he could pull from his pocket dimension armory. Spells were always at the ready, especially in a situation like this, so he wasn't unarmed.

There was no way for him to be outclassed if it came to hand to hand battle, and Loki had no intention of playing fair.

Loki bowed in the face of the Other's scowl, and affected nonchalance as the Other reached for a weapon to aim at him. Inside, something twisted inside of him. Sometimes he could almost forget about this male form, sometimes how it moved reminded him only too painfully that the body was all wrong and misshapen.

Just as well that no one knew who he really was here. It was a mask. It was a costume, another layer that would keep his true self safe from their predations.

"Hello, creature. I am Loki of Asgard. Recently of Asgard, in any case, but that is no longer a homeland that I would claim." He flashed his teeth in a predatory smile. "If anything, I hope to aid you in eventually claiming it."

"There is no such place," the Other snarled. "I am one of the main trainers for all of the greatest warriors in the Galaxy, and I know of all places."

"You," Loki said, adding as much scorn as he could to his voice. "As if you're special."

"You have found one of the Great Titan's training camps, Outsider," the Other said with a sneer, lip curling in anger. "I am the Other, that which sends the worthless to their graves."

Loki managed to look rather bored. "Because you're so fearsome."

"This is a protected camp!" The Other's voice took on an agitated edge, which at least made Loki feel that his posturing was getting somewhere. "You simply appeared in my bathing room, and that is impossible. What means brought you here?" he snarled. The weapon was a spear with a crystalline tip that was likely an energy dispersal unit of some kind, but Loki wasn't afraid of it.

"Magic," Loki told him carelessly, pushing away the spear tip being pointed at him.

"There are no weapons on you. No coin, no plan, nothing of worth in you, not even your blasted corpse," the Other spat.

While Loki had felt worthless before and had contemplated it at length, he felt nothing from the Other and only gave the creature a disdainful look. The Other didn't even put on a robe to exit the bathing room. He said nothing to Loki, but he followed with long, confident strides. The hallways appeared to have been carved out of the black rock, with sharp edges as if they hadn't been filed off or polished. Anyone fool enough to touch them would be cut to ribbons. He guessed that the Other was heading to the main hall, as there were various hallways or rooms splintering out from this particular one. They appeared to be dorms and training halls of various kinds in this camp, all the same dour and rough hewn composition as the hallways. While Asgard's architecture had been all gold and spires, and Metian had been elegance and carved trim to the buildings, this entire place seemed dark and soulless. It had all the personality of a plain black box, and likely was meant to instill fear and despair.

"This is a rather... interesting place to be a training facility," Loki said as they walked, offering the Other an opening salvo.

"Anyone that is here tends to have a death wish or wants to be a child of Thanos."

"I wish to bargain with Thanos."

The Other stopped and barked harshly, his apparent means of laughter. "Such foolishness, to bargain with the great giver of death."

"Surely he wishes for new realms to conquer," Loki told the Other in an offhand manner. "I only wish to rule one."

That barking laugh was back as he began walking again, turning a corner. "You jest."

"I assure you, I do not."

"Oh, you are a great fool. Thanos will enjoy breaking you and grinding your bones to dust."

Affecting a bored expression, Loki shrugged and followed the Other around another jagged corner. "I will see him for myself and let him decide."

"You long for pain and death, do you?" the Other challenged, lifting a hand that looked gnarled and palsied. The taut tendons at his wrist and muscles of his forearm indicated that the Other was fully capable of using the staff. He probably wouldn't even need to use the energy disrupting crystal at its top. Loki had to remind himself not to underestimate the Other at all.

"Asgard wronged me," Loki told the Other stiffly. "I will have my vengeance."

"And use our army for it," the Other sniffed.

"A fair exchange."

"As you see it."

"As anyone would," Loki replied. He couldn't see any telltale markers along the wall to guide their way, and the Other made a right and then a left before continuing to stride down a long and rather unremarkable looking hallway. There weren't even any doors or hallway offshoots to count, just the hollow echo of his boots on stone.

"It's absolutely fair," Loki said when the Other didn't seem to want to continue talking. "I ask for one world, and Thanos will have the others."

The Other sniffed again. "You do not simply arrive and demand audience with our gracious lord."

"I am a prince of Asgard," Loki huffed, rolling his eyes. "Of course I do."

That irritating, barking laugh was back, and Loki grit his teeth when he heard it. There was nothing funny in the least in what he'd said; he had learned the rules of etiquette for a dozen worlds, and all of them were similar. Any visiting royal or member of nobility was treated with courtesy and respect, even if present without an entourage befitting their rank. That was simple hospitality on every world except this one, it seemed.

"You are no prince here, fallen child," the Other wheezed, as if Loki had said something humorous. A sharp left once they reached the end of the plain hallway, then they moved through a large archway. "If you want to meet our gracious lord, you have to earn the privilege. None are granted much glory without proving themselves worthy of his interest. The finest are granted the privilege of joining the Black Order or even being a child of Thanos."

"I have no interest in being a child of Thanos. I have an exchange to discuss. It's a diplomatic event, not one of adoption." Loki had already seen what adoption was like, and it led to nothing but pain and soured memories.

The Other wheezed with laughter and nearly stopped in the middle of a large space that had formed at the intersection of two hallways. "You are an outsider and have no concept of Thanos or the glory of the Black Order and the children of Thanos."

Loki frowned at him, feeling out of his depth here after all. The Other would have found and plundered Metian for Thanos' sake, and wouldn't have cared anything for its people or customs, for their gods or the High Court. But Loki cared far too much, and couldn't risk the Other still finding it and destroying everything.

His plan was going off the rails, and quickly.

He flashed the Other a haughty expression as they began walking again, one he'd perfected on Asgard years ago. "And I suppose you think that you'll be the one to teach me of this greatness? You, who can't be bothered to even dress when faced with royalty of another realm like any other dignitary of the known universe?"

"Dignitary of the universe," the Other echoed with a trace of humor. "I do like the sound of that, yes indeed. But you are hardly a dignitary of the universe, lost little godling."

"Why are you calling me that?" Loki demanded.

"Is that not what you are?" the Other said in amusement, making another turn. There were no markings on the hallway, nothing that was useful as a marker. Even the jagged edges of the walls looked the same from one hallway to the next, which was disconcerting once Loki realized it. Maybe one gouge looked almost like a rune, but it was impossible to tell for certain if it was truly an identifying mark.

"I am a prince of Asgard," Loki told him through grit teeth.

"You're a long way from Asgard, and we know all about that realm of gold and misguided attempts to create order in the galaxy."

Loki narrowed his eyes at the Other. "Misguided, you say. How so?"

"It wastes its resources. It's blind to the misfortunes of the worlds under its protection, and Odin has in fact destroyed a fair number of cultures with his executioner." The Other grimaced, the baring of sharp, pointed teeth likely meant to be a smile of amusement. "You see, you're no more than a child. A mere infant with no understanding, you don't even know your own history. You cannot offer any kind of bargain worthy of my gracious lord. It would be an insult to his greatness to even offer any meeting when you are so woefully unprepared. It would be like a worm trying to speak to the majestic horned griltat."

That sounded suspiciously like the kind of insult Loki had been fond of using on Asgard. "I am no worm," he said finally, "and you yourself are little better than a bilgesnipe."

The Other wheezed with that barking laughter again, making Loki grit his teeth against the sound of it. "Perhaps you may learn something after all, but don't make the mistake of thinking that you're _worthy_."

Now he outright scowled at the Other in anger and frustration; it was all too familiar a thing he'd heard and felt for years. It was a hollow emptiness inside of him, a feeling of failure at not being able to lift Mjolnir, at falling when struck during Einherjar training, at spells collapsing in his hands and singeing his skin. It was knowing he would never be good enough for anyone to care about, knowing he was a twisted and broken thing that had to be hidden from sight. Loki knew full well the shame that he carried inside of him, and it burned that the Other would think he was just as small as he felt.

"I am more worthy than you _ever_ give me credit for," he snarled.

"Truer words never spoken," the Other intoned, his scratchy voice harsh to the ear. He began walking again, toward one of many unmarked doors in the hall. Loki had long since lost his bearings in this place, with no windows to see outside of the training base. If he could have seen outside, the stars would have been unfamiliar, no way to navigate out. Loki kept his chin up high and his hands loose, even though he wanted to scream and pound the Other into a puddle of bloody paste on the plain black floor.

But if he killed the Other now, there would be no way to escape. He could only teleport to places he knew well, and even then it would require far more energy than he currently had. Most of it had already been used up to change his appearance and direct his fall through the Void. He couldn't guarantee that he could actually slip from one place to the next.

"You must prove yourself worthy to even be within the same area of our lord, and you may win the audience that you seek."

"May?" Loki repeated indignantly.

The Other opened one of the unmarked doors and gestured inside with one of his six-fingered hands, a sneer twisting his lips. Loki wanted to scrape it from his face with his fingernails. "Your room here as you earn your place within the glory of the Black Order and the righteousness of the will of Thanos. You will meet only pain and death otherwise."

Loki grimaced at him, a gnashing and baring of his teeth that didn't seem to frighten or intimidate the Other in the slightest. "I am Prince Loki of Asgard, worthier by blood and station than you who lacks a name and world. I _will_ get my audience with Thanos."

"Perhaps. But you will certainly learn humility first," the Other snarled, then pushed Loki into the bare dorm room and locked the door behind him with an ominous click.

The walls were a smoother version of the hallway ones, though still rough and appeared more like volcanic rock, as if all the rooms and halls had been carved out of the asteroid. Wall sconces set into the wall at regular intervals provided light and gravity stabilization; if they ever faltered, the gravity wells in the asteroid altered in unpredictable ways. The bed was a black metal frame with some kind of material stretched over it and a folded blanket on one end. He had a simple toilet, sink and polished black metal slab as a mirror on one side of the room. He had three shelves on the other side of it with some kind of black fabric folded up. Perhaps a uniform of some sort, but Loki wasn't about to change into it and lose the benefits of his armor; it had been handcrafted and spelled with various runes of protection and attack that any entry level fighter uniform would lack.

Loki was a survivor, no matter what form, gender, or homeland that he would have to claim. He was here with a purpose, and he would see it fulfilled, no matter the cost.

Untold lives on Metian depended on him.

***

_I am the god of mischief, lord of misrule and an agent of chaos. I am here of my own volition, and I will not bow to anyone._

Well, Loki could tell himself such things, but that didn't necessarily make it true. That was simply the reality he wanted, one he kept reminding himself of. The Other would try to break him of his purpose, no doubt try to figure out his motives in betraying Asgard. But Asgard betrayed him first, and he really didn't owe that realm his allegiance, did he? He wasn't an Asgardian by blood or birth, after all. Loki had been Jotnar by birth, destined for Laufey's throne upon his death. Perhaps Loki had been born not only with blue skin and red eyes but with a woman's body, and Odin had Frigga twist the infant's form into the more acceptable male.

No, no, he couldn't think of that. He couldn't think of the self he had lost, the self he had to push aside and all but destroy. It hurt, it _burned,_ it gouged at his heart and could only break his resolve if he fell into that now. Loki had to be male, had to be the lost prince of Asgard, the stolen son of Jotunheim, the wrongfully deposed monarch.

That meant Loki could rightfully call himself King of Jotunheim. It would be claiming the tainted birthright that Odin had hidden from him, and Loki wasn't willing to do that. Jotunheim was decimated, all but utterly destroyed by his actions, and he wasn't sorry for that in the slightest. Frost giants were monsters, every last one of them, Loki included. He was an odd one in every sense, no true home or identity, everything in him rebelling at the thought of stasis. Once, he'd been able to change his shape, usually to play pranks on Thor, but had lost the knack as he left early childhood. There was that core sense of self that had never really changed after that, but already carrying a physical form he couldn't tolerate was an additional stress he hadn't been able to keep working around. If he had been, perhaps he never would have felt the need to prove himself to Odin so much. He could have changed his shape to a comfortable one that fit who he truly was inside. Maybe then he wouldn't have felt desperate and lost enough to try genocide. That was quite a bit more than mischief, to be honest.

Oh, bother. Why be honest? There was no one to hold him accountable any longer. Asgard was lost to him now, and any family he once claimed was no longer his.

This place, with its black walls and black metal and unrelieved somber air, only led to introspection of the worst sort. Loki could drown in his thoughts, and then where would he be?

 _I am the god of mischief. I am a **god!**_

He just had to keep reminding himself of that fact. It was difficult when he longed for dresses and ear bobs, jeweled hair pins and elaborate braids done up in styles like Frigga's. He wanted to paint his eyes and lips, wanted to see himself in the gowns befitting his station. The longing was fierce, almost threatening to bring him to his knees.

No, no, no. He couldn't do this. He had to remain a he, had to be seen as male. No one could doubt who he said he was. Loki had to be powerful, master of his fate. He had to be a man worth dealing with, or else this entire exercise was a lost cause and his plans were for nothing.

Loki would not and could not tolerate loss of any kind, and he'd lost too much in leaving Metian and his female self. He couldn't fall prey to it, couldn't succumb to his grief.

Failure was not and never would be an option.

He paced the little room, but there was nowhere to go and nothing to do other than continue these hopeless ruminations. With the dark walls closing in, it was too much like his falls through the Void. Darkness, emptiness, hopelessness, worthlessness...

It was intolerable, and he would not continue in this vein any longer. He was Loki, god of mischief, bringer of chaos. There was more to life than wallowing in pain, and he would have it, even if he had to create it himself.

There, that was appropriate thinking, and he cast a location spell so he could find this narrow excuse of a room again if needed. Wandering this training base with no idea where he was going was probably a bad idea, but fate always favored the bold and he would learn nothing locked away in this room.

It was easy to open the door and explore the halls. Even if he saw others walking about, various species with varying levels of recognizability, none spoke to him or even looked at him. Some of the creatures were rather vile looking, exposed teeth and jaws, fragmented armor pieces that left various parts of their bodies exposed. It would be easy to defeat and kill them, and Loki had the feeling that no one would even care. The creatures had hardware and metallic items embedded in their flesh, fusing machines into their bodies. It was a horrifying amalgamation, and their downcast hollow eyed expressions told of unnamed horrors that had befallen them. The fragmented armor wasn't the same as the black uniforms that had been in his quarters, and looked as though it had once been serviceable and strong. Perhaps this was a member of a warrior race that had been corrupted and conscripted to Thanos' army.

The Other had all but said it was to be Loki's fate as well. He would rebel, had to. He couldn't be left as one of those pitiful creatures, to be controlled and used at someone else's whim.

Loki found himself in a large training salle. The Chitauri were by far the most populous in the training facility, but hardly the only race present within the bleak black walls. There were hundreds of those creatures he passed, as well as aliens of dozens of races he'd never seen before. It was awe inspiring in an awful kind of way, because Loki knew this was just one of many training posts, and these minions were obviously disposable.

"You don't exactly look pleased to be here," a sardonic female voice said next to him.

Seated on a crate of supplies was a young woman with green skin, black and magenta hair, rings on her fingers and an outfit that wasn't trainee black. Instead, her top was some kind of burgundy long sleeved shirt with a scooped neck. Over it was an armored vest with decorative metallic pieces that looked to be hidden knives. Her trousers were a burnished reddish brown color and appeared to be made of reinforced mesh material, with blade holsters along both thighs. Her boots were heavy, studded and scuffed from heavy use. Loki couldn't tell if it was from travel or battle, but it was likely both.

She was important, then, and was looking over the training salle with a disinterested and bored air. Her attitude was everything he had ever wanted to be as a female, and he wanted to like her and be like her instantly.

"My lot in life involves more than throwing it away to die in someone else's name."

The woman huffed and rolled her eyes. "You're in the wrong place, then. This is all about dying in someone else's name."

"And what's your name?" he asked. When she pursed her lips in an irritated way, he bowed regally as he would have done on Metian. "I am Loki."

"You must know the Collector," she guessed. "He likes to bow that way, too." After a beat of silence, she shrugged one shoulder. "Gamora."

"Is your role here to judge their worthiness?"

Rolling her eyes, Gamora appeared bored by the question. "Not everyone here is meant to be the judge." Her tone was flippant, but there was an edge to it that Loki couldn't place.

"That dubious honor belongs to the Other? If I may ask."

"He's the last of his kind," she replied, "and lost his name decades ago. All he knows is servitude to my father."

Her father. The Mad Titan. She was a Child of Thanos, then, and obviously carried quite a bit of favor and privilege in that role.

"So it's a worthy role, then? To serve your father? Or to be adopted by him?"

"Depends on what you consider worthy," Gamora said, an edge to her voice as she gazed at him with narrowed eyes.

"I am here to propose a trade of sorts. Giving your father the location of new worlds to conquer in exchange for one of my own to rule."

"Ah. Another one of those."

The tone was so disparaging and dismissive, he couldn't help but look at her in surprise. "Is that not a worthwhile bargain?"

"For him," Gamora said blandly. "All of you tend to lose everything. Nice knowing you, Loki."

"I don't intend to lose."

"No one ever does."

Loki frowned at her. "How often do others attempt to oppose him, then?" He blinked at her incredulous look. "What?"

"How have you survived this long while knowing absolutely nothing of Thanos?"

"On the world I came from," Loki began, studiously avoiding any thought of other selves or other worlds, "we were rather insular. A series of connected worlds made up our universe, and never once had Thanos been mentioned. If anything, they held themselves to be far superior, and the protector of other worlds."

"Well, if they were so superior," she said, sarcasm and disdain heavy in her tone, "then why did you leave it?"

A reasonable question, and one that he wished he could answer honestly. But honesty was out of the question, and he might not ever be honest again.

Instead, Loki gave Gamora a manic grin that used to scare Thor but left her unimpressed. "I am the second son of Asgard." Lies, lies, he was the god of _lies_ now, not just mischief! "What else is a second son going to do if the eldest is going to rule the land of his birth? Why, seek out a kingdom of his own, of course."

"Some people are never content."

"No, they're not," Loki agreed, his grin full of sharp, razor sharp teeth. "And these are the ones that will eventually lead. I plan to be such a one."

She laughed, a harsh, bitter and disturbing sound for him to listen to. It was the sound of all hope gone, and Loki hoped to Hel that it would never happen to him one day.

"People plan such wondrous things, don't they? And then it all falls apart."

"Arguably, they had poorly laid plans to begin with."

"No one can plan for Thanos. It's like planning for death -- you think you're ready, but you're actually never ready."

"How poetic." Loki took in her lack of response and stiff posture. "You must love him very much."

"Must I?"

"Don't children love their fathers?"

"The children of Thanos are those trained to kill. To hurt, to cleave life from limb, to be merciless and sure. There is no such thing as love. There is only death and pain, and how much of it is endured before the final end."

Loki blinked at her. "That... is rather eloquent."

Gamora nodded, then took a wicked looking knife from her left thigh holster to idly pick at dirt from under her fingernails. "Those are my sister's words. I find they explain everything, really."

"You're proud of being a Child of Thanos, then?" Loki asked, curious.

"He made me everything I am today. Is that what you wish for yourself?"

"I... I only wish to rule. To have a realm of my own," Loki said, a response that only seemed to bore her.

"Well. A would-be conqueror among a sea of conquerors. I guess we'll see how you fare."

"I thought few spoke with Thanos directly."

"Few do." She smiled, all teeth and no joy or warmth. "So don't think you're special. Odds are, you aren't."

He firmed his jaw and lifted his chin a notch. "Oh, I very much am."

She snorted and rolled her eyes. "Everyone always thinks so."

"Then what makes _you_ so special that you're a child of Thanos?" he asked in challenge.

If anything, that made her expression harden, her eyes like flint. "He chooses the best. Only the best. Most that think they are really aren't." She hopped off the crate with an eerie, deadly grace. "Don't get your hopes up. He even culls his children." Her expression darkened for a moment, recalling something that Loki didn't know. "And they ask for it, praise his name, and strive even more for his regard."

Loki blinked. "Hardly the ideal of fatherhood."

"Maybe not on your homeworld," Gamora told him dismissively, a curl of scorn in her lip. "But you're a long way from home now, Loki. And odds are good you'll never go back."

"If that's the goal?"

Her bark of laughter was less irritating than the Other's, but clearly at his expense. "Then you'll most certainly get your wish. At least this was a little entertaining. There isn't much of that here."

He narrowed his eyes at her. "Then why are you here? If not training the battle fodder?"

Gamora gazed out over the endless rows of black moving in formation. "Even the best here need a reminder sometimes."

"For what?"

She remained silent. He was about to ask what she was waiting for when she held up a ringed finger to silence him, then pointed to the rows. "Wait for it," she said, wagging that finger. "They did these drills for nearly two hours before you arrived."

"Two hours of constant drills?" he asked in surprise.

"No, it's four hours without a break. Two hours is usually when they start dropping."

"And then?" Loki asked, looking amongst the rows. Now that he knew what to look for, it wasn't as seamless as it first looked. Some were a bit sluggish, others had vague errors in their form. "What happens if they can't last the four hours?"

"Wait for it," she repeated.

In dread, Loki waited with her even after her arm dropped. They stood side by side in silence for a time, watching the drills continue. The ones likely to fail began to stand out, as Gamora said, and the tension mounted for Loki until it was damn near beyond endurance. Something terrible would happen; nothing soft or warm or helpful survived on a place like this, and Loki didn't want to see it. He already knew that failure wasn't an option, but he didn't need to actually see _how bad_ it would be.

One of the nameless, faceless minions couldn't complete the drill. Form was failing, and one of the Chitauri line monitors barked in some language that Loki didn't understand, even with the help of the Allspeak. Perhaps it wasn't even language. Either way, the minion didn't reply, and then staggered in their place. 

Loki watched helplessly as the monitor threw out a whip that wrapped around the hapless minion's neck. The whip was apparently monofilament or energy based, because the head was neatly sliced right off of the neck and lolled about on the ground. Both the base of the neck and severed head appeared to have cauterized wounds, though Loki was too far away to see how the whip could have done it. The monitor barked out more commands in that odd language of his, and the shaken minions around the dead one had to pick up the drills where they left off.

"They kill the failures. No second chances," Gamora said, voice flat. "Still, it's the kindest way to go. If they pass this stage, punishments are worse and more difficult to endure."

He looked at her, secure in the knowledge that he at least wasn't giving her a stricken expression. It surely wasn't as blase as hers, but not that of a naive country bumpkin entering the city for the first time. "How many survive this stage?"

"Not enough. Never enough."

"By whose reckoning?"

"Anyone's," Gamora said in a dismissive tone. "The goal is to destroy and kill. There's never going to be enough death."

This was what Gamora would have lived with. This was how she grew up. It wasn't a game to her, but so commonplace a sight that it didn't horrify her as much as it did for him.

"So why do you need a reminder?"

"All is fleeting," she replied, voice hard. "Sometimes we need to know what we're fighting for."

It was anyone's guess what she meant, but Loki wasn't about to ask and risk looking stupid. He feared she already thought him irresponsibly foolish, and she was only the daughter of Thanos. What would the Mad Titan himself think of him?

Gamora stared at him. "Do you know what you're fighting for?"

Loki lifted his chin, squared his shoulders and met her gaze. "Yes, I do."

He knew what he was fighting for, and that he could never, ever, _ever_ reveal it.

She gave him an assessing glance, shrugged one shoulder, and then turned to leave. "Hang onto it and don't let go. Otherwise, that'll be you," she said in closing, a vague gesture toward the rest of the training salle.

Perhaps this was what passed as kindness here, though it still sounded harsh, dismissive, and almost cruel to Loki. That was what survived in this place. That was what Thanos cultivated across the universe.

By the norns, that was what he was going to have to be. He'd changed himself once, he changed back, so he'd be able to change himself again. He had to. There was absolutely no other alternative, because he wouldn't be the only one to die if he failed.

 _Don't get it wrong,_ Faelan's voice echoed in his mind. He resisted the urge to grimace or strike at one of the rough hewn walls. _There's only one chance for this to work._

***

The Other apparently usually dressed in a hooded undertunic beneath armor. He carried a staff and a perpetual scowl paired with an air of disdain for anyone not in the Black Order. All of the Chitauri in the training base were treated as little more than insects, a necessary annoyance that had to be dealt with. Not a one ever rose up to rebel against orders, which Loki found to be odd. "How do you keep control over them? The thousands and hundreds of thousands?" he asked during his audience with the Other.

That seemed to amuse him. "You reveal yourself to be a foolish child playing at high theatrics and rule."

Loki frowned at him. "I believe I was quite clear on what I was offering."

Disdainfully, the Other made a dismissive wave. "It's all the same to our glorious Order, our Master, our Lord. Death will come to all worlds, whether you think you aid us or not." He glanced at Loki as if he was dirt that needed to be cleaned away. "So what will you be able to offer to us that others can't?"

Standing at his fullest height, Loki fixed the Other with a glare fueled by all of his hatred for Odin and Frigga's lies, by his feelings of inadequacy in this skin and clothing he despised, by having to deal with these foul and disgusting creatures as if they were superior.

"I have intimate knowledge of the structure, life forms, and valuable assets of each of the nine realms of Yggdrasil. I am master of the _seiðr,_ practitioner of the _galðr_ and _spá_. I wield the runes and knowledges so arcane and obscure that I am a library in my own right." His voice was clipped and precise, the diction he would use to correct an unruly servant in the palace. "To dismiss such is a waste of resources and utterly foolish on your part."

That disconcerting laugh was back, but shorter and thankfully seemed to carry a measure of respect in it this time. "Perhaps you are useful after all."

"Of course I am," Loki sniffed. "I am a royal son of Asgard, the golden pinnacle of Yggdrasil." He let his tone convey his disdain for the Other and his stupidity for ignoring him; repetition would only appear to be desperate, and he could never appear to be as desperate as he felt.

"It's easy to claim such knowledge," the Other said, tone echoic and grating. Loki grit his teeth against commenting on it. "It's quite another to be able to prove it."

Loki laughed as though the Other had said something hilarious, that this was an airy court on Asgard. Better still if it was the High Court on Metian, if Loki wore her hair long or in braided coils threaded with jewels, face painted to highlight her best features, gown cinched tight around her waist. It was folly to long for such things, to let even an ounce of his bodily discomfort show on this world that harrowed and winnowed and culled.

"Of course you want a demonstration," he trilled, lips twisting into a sneer. "All do, thinking it's petty trickery or sleight of hand, little baby magic tricks to amuse these small minds and minor will." The sneer deepended and his eyes twinkled with mischief as the Other scowled in displeasure. It was rather like tweaking Odin a bit when he had been a boy, back when it had been all fun and games, and not treachery and lies.

Letting the greenish-gold magic curl and twist around his fingers, Loki built it up in layers. Magic brightened as it coiled and braided itself in a lock pattern. The magic intensified, brighter and brighter, until it would have been blinding for lesser mortals.

"We need action. We need results," Loki said in a tight voice, knowing he was echoing Faelan's voice ages ago. The Other narrowed his eyes at the rebuke, and opened his mouth to speak.

Not allowing the Other to speak, Loki let the magic light flare even brighter, finally blinding him. "So," Loki said smoothly, a smile on his face as if that had been his intention all along. He flung his left arm out, and the ball of white hot magic flared out into a wickedly sharp blade that etched the floor at his feet and extended out in the direction of his arm for another dozen feet.

"I would never presume to slaughter or kill those not approved," Loki said smoothly. "The floor is a poor substitute, but tells you how sharp and deep the blades may cut."

As if he was expecting Loki to lash out at him, the Other narrowed his eyes at him as he descended the dais and then knelt down to test the edges of the scored cut. He peered at it, facial features looking more like the Chitauri than the Other's. Loki wondered if they were similar species, but would never actually ask him. He gradually stood, the same beady eyed glance at Loki. "It's deep, sharply done. Perhaps, should you progress far enough, Ebony Maw will take interest in you."

Lofting an eyebrow at the Other, Loki tilted his head slightly in question. "I am unfamiliar with that name," he said, just a bit of dismissive hauteur in his voice still. "He has some kind of important role, I assume?"

"One of the Black Order," the Other said, voice like rumbling gravel. "He has never failed Thanos on any endeavor, and can also command more than just the physical in fights."

Loki gave him an edged smile, eyes still sharp as he contemplated the Other. "I look forward to such a meeting. So few understand or appreciate these more subtle arts."

"Ebony Maw can wield his art in subtle ways, to be sure. But he is just as gifted using them as blunt instruments." The Other's eyes glittered dangerously, and Loki met that gaze rather than back up as he normally would have wanted to do. "I'm sure that the two of you will find much to converse about."

The way he said _converse_ implied far more than talking, and Loki seemed fairly certain that torture, pain and misery were involved.

He pasted a smile on his face and nodded regally, as if an audience with this Ebony Maw was simply his due. "I look forward to it." He turned the smile to the Other, imagining that he was one of the vermin that had to be exterminated. "And while I'm here, I'm sure that there are ways to prove my usefulness other than tricks and trifles."

"I believe there is use for you," the Other said, and Loki kept the smile on his face as if the words didn't fill him with foreboding. "But first, we will need to fully acquaint you with our training facility and see how best you fit."

Inclining his head in the same regal manner, Loki swallowed down the desperate, clawing feeling deep in his gut. There was no backing down from this, no room for regrets. He was all in, for better or for worse.

***

The training facility was located on a hunk of stone that was part of a large asteroid chain circling a distant star. Loki had gotten a glimpse of it when he landed, of course, all dark stone and metal, but it had been dark and he had been specifically looking for the Other. The place seemed to absorb all light and hope, oozing despair and misery with every smooth brick of its exterior. There were no finger holds for climbing, no place where the invaders could scale the walls and hope to gain entry that way. It was only accessible by a single double-doored gate, each door wide enough to accommodate a Frost Giant.

Thanos was a Titan, Loki recalled. Which meant that the gate was built to be large enough to accommodate his mass, if he should deign show up.

Gamora arrived in the main salle in full battle regalia as a daughter of Thanos. Her hair was up in regal rolls, elaborate pins in place that no doubt doubled as weapons. Instead of a vest over a shirt, she wore a tunic with a high collar that had elaborate clasps down the front. From the waist, it flared out into a parted skirt that fell to below the knee. She wore trousers and her scuffed boots. Her gear was made of some kind of black plated hide, with metal studs and trim, as well as a sword sheath on her thigh and what likely were tiny knives disguised as ornamentation. Loki rather liked that concept, and nodded at her as he would to a royal equal. "Greetings," he said, not sure how to properly address her in this setting. She returned the nod.

The Other had an odd expression on his face, as if he'd eaten something soured and spoiled but was still obliged to smile and call it delicious.

The room was as expansively large as the training salle that he had first met Gamora in. Unlike that room, this one was set up arena style, with bleachers for a large number of viewers to observe the display in the very center. Loki would be in the arena, he knew, and given the nature of this place, he would likely have to battle to the death. The sand of the arena was dark, likely stained with the blood of many tested and killed.

He was determined not to be one of them.

Gamora settled on one of the lower branches of the bleachers. The Other had a sour look on his face still, and positioned himself on a lower bench. It looked like he had approached as close to Gamora as he dared, and Gamora fixed a gimlet eye on him. The Other blanched, then moved to an even lower tier. His followers had to stand or sit on the floor in front of him. He glowered at Loki, but that didn't diminish the unholy joy that he felt at the sight of the Other's discomfiture. Good.

Loki didn't think about the creature he had to be in order to survive, or the Loki he'd had to all but destroy in order to be here. If he did, his black heart would break and he'd sob enough tears wash the blood out of the arena sand.

"Let's have a display of your full power," the Other declared as a few Chitauri entered the ring.

"They don't have magic. It's hardly fair to them, and will be quite a boring task for me," Loki scoffed, tossing his hair over his shoulder.

"Let's see your hand to hand," Gamora called out, overriding what the Other was about to say. "Do your worst if you like." Her expression was odd and difficult to read. "We'll start with a single combatant, then increase difficulty to really test your skill."

"Do you need your fighters alive?" Loki asked her, eyebrow lofted in query.

Her expression remained oddly strained. "We can leave this up to you. I want your best effort, a real display of your skills. The only constraint is that you're limited to hand to hand."

Teeth bared in a feral grin, Loki gave her a deep, respectful bow. "My sincere pleasure, my lady Gamora," he told her regally.

Bare fist to bare claw, and Loki felt the thrill of the fight. He hadn't done this in so long, and he wanted to feel the destruction and blood beneath his fists. Loki dodged in close, testing the range of the Chitauri's reach, getting a glancing blow to his arm for his trouble. It barely even hurt, but he lashed out with a kick to the Chitauri's chest, knocking him back and away. That didn't take all of his energy or strength, and the Chitauri fighter still skidded back. It angered the fighter, and he rushed forward intending to bash Loki with a double fisted blow. That was telegraphed too soon, and Loki was able to dodge it and strike down hard with his fist. The force behind it was fueled rage, the only safe emotion to feel here.

The fight was easy, barely a challenge with the single Chitauri, and a knockout was enough to fell the creature to the sand. Two at once came next, which still wasn't much of a challenge. Loki hit a bit harder, a faster knockout for each challenger. Three at once, then four, then five, and Loki began to feel more of a challenge in the fight. He may have roared, might have grunted, but fists and feet and elbows hooked the Chitarui faces and legs, crashing them down to be taken out of the fight. He didn't check to see if any were breathing, and simply kept going with the fighting until he seemed to be in the center of a mass of fallen bodies, some audibly moaning in pain and others simply lying still on the sand and staring off.

At first, Loki didn't know why the Chitauri stopped coming. Looking up, Gamora was standing and looking down at the arena, expression flat. "Again," she said, nodding at him. "This time you get one knife to play with."

Again the Chitauri came, the bodies on the floor left where they were. No one moved any of their brethren, no one seemed to care. The Chitauri valued power and skill, and the fallen soldiers were losers. They no longer mattered, no longer had any kind of value as a comrade.

The thrill of the fight was upon him, the swing and sway of the blade in his hand. It was an extension of him, natural and sharp and protective, his blood singing with that distinctive kind of joy that had been encouraged on Asgard. Adrenaline sharpened everything, senses on high alert, and Loki felt alive in a way that he hadn't felt in ages. There were no thoughts, no plans, no worries. All there was was movement, reaction, action.

"Enough!" the Other shouted. It altered Loki's attention so that his knife sliced open a throat instead of deflecting an attack. "The kill rate is so low, it's absurd."

Loki's breath heaved in his chest from the adrenaline, and he wanted to take his blade across the Other's throat or throw it hard enough to bury the entire exposed tang in his armored chest. It took gritting his teeth and grinding them together to keep from acting out.

"I'm sure he doesn't want to waste our men," Gamora said, standing again. "Why else try to so clearly define the boundaries of my request?"

"This isn't war," Loki growled at the Other. "It's a showcase. If you want them all dead, then you should just say so."

The Other glowered at him. "We're to test the extent of your skills."

"We can assess what we see," Gamora disagreed mildly. "The object isn't to see if he's a foot soldier, after all. The point is to see if he can be a general. If he can bring more worlds to heel."

Chastened but still angry, the Other only bowed his head at Gamora. "He's no Child of Thanos."

"No," Gamora agreed. "But neither are you."

That clearly disturbed the Other, but he remained silent and sullen.

Loki created four copies of himself to fan out behind him. "And how do I measure up, my lady Gamora?" he asked, his copies grinning up at her.

She leveled a chill smile at him, a predator's gaze assessing him. "We see this kind of physical skill a lot. The magic is new. I want to see more of that now."

"Your wish is granted," Loki declared.

Five copies of Loki moved across the bloody sand of the arena. Blasts of magic flew out in a wave of iridescent green. The dead Chitauri were immediately burned up into ash and smoke, while the injured ones were simply pushed to the outer edge of the blast zone. It was not exactly an easy or common spell, and one that actually was modified from a weeding spell he had used in Frigga's garden as a young boy. He'd gotten more than enough practice with it while tending the fields on Metian, and it was almost second nature now.

The memories hurt a lot, more than he thought it would. Loki pushed past it, determined not to let it hinder impressing Gamora. She was the one that clearly held power here, and told the Other what to do.

She was grinning at that move, and nodded at him when one of his copies looked up at her. Her next nod was toward the entryway, and that was the only warning he got before more Chitauri entered the arena.

Now it was blade and magic, moving in sync in a way that Loki hadn't felt in some time. Even on Asgard he had so rarely used magic along with the fights, but now he didn't have to hold back. He could be himself, whoever that was in a fight, and at least here no one cared who that would actually be.

Loki roared in the fight, limbs shaking as the exhaustion began to set in, but the Chitauri continued to come in. There was no break, no remittance, no mercy. He pushed himself to remain standing, to ignore the whisper in the back of his mind that they were going to overwhelm and destroy him. This was a test, only a test, and Gamora at least seemed to like him enough to want him to remain alive. Whether or not that extended to actual goodwill or not, Loki had no idea and wasn't willing to test.

"I've seen enough," Gamora finally declared. Loki didn't want to think of how many Chitauri were slaughtered for this purpose, how many more would have to die.

Loki brushed sweaty clumps of hair out of his face and his copies faded out of existence. "And?"

"I find you acceptable."

"Acceptable," Loki scoffed.

"Were you holding back?"

"I suppose you'd call it that. This isn't a test designed to show my full potential."

Gamora seemed to ponder that. "Maw should be contacted, then." She stood and looked to the Other with a cool expression. "Test the limits and uses of magic only," she told him, not bothering to even use his name. "In a fight, he's worthy of the training fields. We'll have to see if Loki can enter the death hall."

The Other scowled but bowed deeply. "As the Daughter of Thanos commands."

"And Thanos will receive my full report."

Loki looked to her when the Other blanched, a question in his expression. She didn't have to answer him, but he was curious as to the dynamic between the two of them.

She gave him a mysterious smile. "It is Thanos that makes the final decision, but I am his strongest child. I am the deadliest woman in the galaxy," she added with a leering smile that didn't seem to sit quite right on her face.

Loki nodded regally at her. "I look forward to the time I may work with you."

"You wouldn't be working with me," Gamora told him in amusement.

"Oh? Then with the Other?" Loki asked, trying not to feel sick about it. The Other was a twisted and angry creature, full of spite and evil. The Other was the thing that the Asgardians should have been afraid of.

Gamora didn't laugh, but looked down at him as if she wanted to. "There will be appropriate ways to use your talents."

"And the dead here?"

"Are dead," she said simply, not even shrugging. They were collateral damage, nothing more, nothing important at all.

He nodded sharply in understanding. Lives held no meaning here. He'd known that, in a way. People had to be useful to stay alive in a place like this. It was a little startling to see just how little value that carried.

She had gone to the training grounds to remind herself of that. As good as she was as a daughter of Thanos, even Gamora's life could someday be forfeit if Thanos wished it. All that Thanos wanted was death in the name of balance. He couched it in terms of preserving life and creating a paradise on worlds, but he was creating even more chaos in his wake. The untold mass of bodies would rot and spread disease faster than the survivors could eliminate them, if any had the skill to do so. Knowledge and craft skills would be lost. Infrastructure damaged or destroyed. An uneven genetic pool would remain, and societies would ultimately collapse.

Fast death, then slow death. Overall, it was just more of the death that he craved.

The accidental meeting might not have been so accidental. It might have been a warning to him, letting him know what he was in for. It might have been a rare moment of honesty for her, the only kind of mercy she could grant him.

Either way, if Loki didn't tread carefully, he was doomed. Then the rest of the entire universe would fall in Thanos' wake.

***

Though the Other was livid, he had to open the entire training facility to Loki. He didn't get a new room to sleep in, but that hardly mattered when he spent so little time there. Instead, he worked on combat skills and learning more about the Chitauri. Theirs was a warrior culture, after all, but they were now subordinate to the Other and his will, and would let themselves die if he commanded it of them.

Loki needed to get out of there as fast as possible, but he didn't know how to do it safely.

He was stuck in a horrid waiting game, waiting to die or be sent to the next area making up his own personal hell. It was work to keep the haughty exterior in place, to use the arrogant expression on his face as a shield. The Other didn't dare do anything, even after Gamora left the outpost, as he had official approval to be there. He absented himself, mostly, which was fine with Loki, though sometimes he worried what it might mean. Was the Other plotting something? Would Loki have to forfeit his life?

Sometimes he saw the Chitauri or other races and wondered how they approached the bleak atmosphere of this place. Loki thought of approaching any of them for companionship, whether mental or physical, just to pass the time. It likely wasn't safe to do at all in a place like this or with the creatures to choose from. Few were visually appealing to him, so that alone would have made it difficult to get a rise out of his manhood. The discomfort around that very organ was still there, muted, coiling deep within and just waiting to make him even more unhappy with himself than he already was.

Loki needed some kind of release. Fighting wasn't enough, because the tension constantly built up and had few other releases. The aggression and adrenaline from fighting and planning persisted, making it difficult to meditate or scry for the future. Maybe it was better that he not know, too. Knowing too much would add to his worry and stress, and he couldn't afford to falter or be distracted.

He tried to think of Olenna from the pleasure palace in Asgard, the way she'd coaxed the anguish out of him and helped him feel whole. She was safely hidden away while he languished on this forsaken rock. As much as he was glad she was safe, he missed her. Even thinking of her made that ache deeper and more intense. He wished he could stroke her soft skin and kiss her lips, hear her gentle voice tell him it would be all right. Her quiet assurances could calm him, distract him from the anxiety threatening to swallow him whole.

Loki ached for her so badly, and finally caved to the loneliness and hopelessness. He had to pleasure himself with that awful thing between his legs, which was terrible, but he pretended it was her hand, her voice in his ear, her breasts pressed against his chest. When he came, sobbing, he felt even more alone and empty.

The darkness dogged his every step, and all he had to look forward to was the Other's snide remarks. With Gamora's approval, the Other wasn't going to harm him, at least not physically. But there were myriad other ways to hurt people, and the Other was far too aware of them. It would be even worse when Ebony Maw and others from the Black Order arrived. But there were few opportunities to get off this blasted rock.

He might have to offer more than a single realm, then. So be it. Any number of them were almost dead already. Offering them up to Thanos' army would be a blessing in disguise to those lost and forsaken souls. With as devastated as Jotunheim had to be...

One of the other races working at the base besides the Chitauri were tall and blue skinned. They fought well, and one in particular was dressed in fine robes and carried a warhammer with him through the halls. Whenever he passed, he eyed Loki with suspicion. Loki's armor stood out here, even if no one could recognize it as necessarily Asgardian, and the Other's disdain and reluctance to trust him marked him further. Loki was an outsider here, and always would be.

"I am Loki," he said simply one day, introducing himself when Ronan wouldn't introduce himself.

"I am Ronan the Accuser," the man told him in a bored tone of voice. He continued to eye Loki with disdain similar to the Other's, making Loki's skin crawl. "Your kind is new, and have not worked with the Kree."

Ah. The disdain was racism, pure and simple. He could work with narrow minded fools like that, and had all the time. The irony was not lost on him.

"Asgard held the wars of the Kree to be... juvenile," Loki said finally, shrugging. "Of course, how much of it was propaganda remains to be seen."

Ronan narrowed his eyes at Loki. "The Kree are masters of fate and purity of purpose. There are those who lost their way. It could be _those_ misguided fools who your brethren spoke of."

Loki snorted, expression fixed into one of benign amusement, as if Ronan was an idiot. "If you must believe such a thing, so be it."

That definitely sent him into a rage, but it was a controlled one. "I sit beside the Black Order as an equal. You are an interloper."

"Yet I plan to give Thanos an entire world," Loki told him in a solicitous tone. "You haven't, have you? Not the Kree homeworld, not a protectorate, not one of its conquered realms. Why is that? Not truly believing in Thanos?"

Instead of answering, Ronan stalked off to look for the Other. Loki would probably pay for that later, but for now he was content. His barbs irritated Ronan, but also made Loki appear to be firmly in Thanos' camp. It was a fine line to walk, but he'd been on the razor's edge for a while now and had survived. So far, so good.

***

The training was hard and brutal, but Loki welcomed it. He fought hard, imagining the Other's face on top of each Chitauri footman that he fought. Ronan sometimes took a look, but tended to frown and scowl. Loki ignored him, as if he was no more than the Einherjar in training back on Asgard. That brought its own grief and pain, which he ruthlessly pushed down.

He dreaded the arrival of the Black Order, but they came anyway. They seemed to be led by Ebony Maw, the one with magic that would challenge Loki's skill. He carried a scepter with a blue jewel that glittered and pulled at Loki's core, a resonant feeling that was more than magic. He _wanted_ it, to know what kind of magic that was, to explore the depth and breadth and weft of it, the first real challenge to his skill since falling through the Void, stars glittering faintly in the distance.

Thinking of the Void reminded him of Metian, of the pain and misery threading through his heart. Loki had to push it all down deep, along with the knowledge of the _wrongness_ that was his body, or else he'd choke.

He looked disinterestedly at the Other, and nodded at Maw and the Black Order members behind him. "Greetings. I am Loki."

 _Of Metian_ wanted to slide off his tongue, as that was his truest self. But no, that had to stay hidden, had to be secret even from himself. Asgard didn't feel like home anymore, and he could never truly claim the kinship of Jotunheim. Loki wasn't like them, not in appearance, size, longings or culture. He was alone, belonging to no one and nowhere.

Ebony Maw was fairly monochrome, various shades of gray and white in his skin tone and dress, with a shock of thin white hair trailing out from his scalp. His sharp cheekbones met and led to a flat space where Loki would have expected a nose to be, and there was no clearly defined upper lip as well. His entire posture and facial expression was one of extreme boredom and superiority. His gaze flicked across Loki in his Asgardian garb, the slightest of lip curls adding to the haughty expression.

"Rejoice," Maw finally said, inclining his head finally. "For you are in the presence of the Black Order, a high honor indeed. We are the true Children of Thanos, but all become his Children in death." Now the smile was fairly sardonic. "The sacrifice of your life will further his cause, and we welcome it."

Loki inclined his head in the same way that Maw had. "His cause. It isn't simply conquering the realms of the universe?"

"Our savior, the most prestigious and honorable Thanos," Maw said, starting to move forward with fluid steps that made him almost seem like he was floating, "seeks balance. In the balance is the glory and beauty of Death, She Who Consumes All." Maw's voice was reverent, and the scepter in his hands seemed to glow faintly.

"There are tales of the realm of Death on my homeworld," Loki began, staying still as Maw continued his slow gliding approach. The hairs at the nape of his neck were raising, almost as if the power rising off of Maw and the staff he held created static. It was a field of some kind, and he slammed his mental shields down tight. This creature was _magic,_ and he didn't know what kind that Maw would wield.

"Not the realm," Maw said, a self satisfied tone to his voice. He raised a hand, heavy signet rings on every finger. Loki could feel the pull of magic, and _knew_ that Maw was trying to do something to him. He couldn't tell exactly what kind of spell, it was a different kind of magic than that he'd studied on Asgard or Metian.

Loki lifted his chin and made sure the calm, self assured expression remained on his face. He couldn't show weakness, couldn't be ignorant of this creature's skills or motives. He gloried in death, believed with every fiber of his being that the Mad Titan held pure and venerable ideals that had to be upheld. "The actual goddess of Death, then?"

Maw gave him a patronizing smile. "If you like."

"I have been told you have skill with magic," Loki said, deciding to simply dive forward rather than wait for Maw to pounce. Let no one call him a coward, he would seek out his death with glory and his head held high.

Now Maw looked delighted, eyes wider than the scowly expressions he had been giving Loki up until that point. "Yes. I suppose you would call it that. Quite a few of the backwater worlds call powers they don't understand magic." Dust rose up from around him in a cloud. "Matter can be manipulated to become and do just about anything."

Loki smiled thinly. Backwater world? No, Asgard was the shining golden mass that protected the other worlds of Yggdrasil. "I suppose that could be like our _seiðr,"_ Loki mused, letting copies split off of himself to fan out as Maw's lackeys were. If he was stronger in the _spá_ he might use it for such parlor tricks, but he would rather save it as a means of besting Maw in the future. He didn't believe for a moment that Maw would accept him as an equal.

Head tilted slightly in contemplation, Maw's smile seemed to be a little more genuine. "I see. If this is what your world calls magic, I see why Gamora thought we would enjoy a meeting of minds. So few are interesting, and their magicks are nothing more than child's tricks to fool those weak of intellect and feint of heart."

"Those unworthy to be Children of Thanos."

"At least a living one," Maw scoffed, waving his free hand in a dismissive manner.

"Aside from dust, what can your skill do?" Loki asked politely. He had a feeling it would be deadly and violent, that the pain Maw inflicted would be immense. Victims would scream, crying out for the blessed death that would relieve them from their misery.

Why had he thought he could play this dangerous game?

Maw laughed, a low chuckle that actually made a thrill fear tickle Loki's spine. "Would you like to know personally, then?"

That was definitely a loaded question, so Loki merely made a sweeping gesture with his hand, and every copy did as well. "There are plenty Chitauri here to serve as examples of your creativity, I should think. I've always learned best by visuals."

Lies, lies, lies, he was the god of lies now. But Maw seemed to have bought it, for he nodded his head and let his extended hand fall. The scepter in his other hand called to Loki, even though he didn't exactly know why, and he had to try to push away the compulsion to grab the thing from Maw and make it his own. That would likely only seal his fate, and by extension, eventually that of every life on Metian.

He was the god of lies. He was the one that would be a savior for millions through deceit, death, and decay. The irony was choking him.

The scepter hovered in front of Maw as he retrieved a folded case from one of the pockets worked into his outfit. It could have been armor of some kind, but it was less obvious than Loki's was. There were no vambraces, gauntlets or greaves, no chest plate or maille. Instead it seemed like layered gray fabric with black, dark gray and some gold highlighting across the front. Perhaps that gold was meant to be armor as well as accent coloring, as Loki's was, but he rather doubted it. Maw seemed the type to think of requiring armor as weakness.

Flaps of black leathery fabric kept the interior protected. Inside the case were thousands of microsurgery needles, painstakingly arranged in three neat rows. "These were designed for surgery," Maw said, gaze on those needles looking almost loving. Frigga had once looked at him in such a way, pride and love and expectation all at once. _My son,_ she'd said, that smile lighting up her entire expression. _My talented son._

Loki felt like such a failure.

Each of those thousands of needles rose gracefully from the case in Maw's hands. One of the Chitauri were chosen at random, and was levitated into the air, then held in place. The needles flew to the hapless alien, terror clear on its face. "Resch," it said, voice garbled but fear still evident its voice. "Avek leit resch!"

With a bored, dismissive wave of his hand, Maw sealed the Chitauri's mouth shut. It screamed in utter fear, a high pitched and squeaking sound that Loki had never heard before, even in the midst of the endless rounds of training. The Chitauri didn't fear pain or death. They expected it, really, and there was little else to look forward to in a place like this.

"They are so feeble, these animals," Maw said, voice as bored as his wave had been. "It is hardly a proper challenge. But it is useful as a demonstration of a portion of my skill."

A portion of his skill. Loki was probably going to be sick later. Maw moved everything with eerie grace and accuracy that would make the Einherjar envious. Every microneedle moved in concert, the precision beautiful and frightening to watch. This was the meaning of awesome in its purest form. It was a storm of microneedles descending on the hapless Chitauri, mouth sealed shut as if it no longer existed. The frightened screams increased in intensity as pain and unspeakable agony were added to the mix. Needles poked and prodded, dove beneath the skin and slithered underneath armor. Blood collected on the skin to pool into drops that fell to the sand of the arena, drop by steady drop.

Maw was smiling, quite obviously pleased with his handiwork.

"This is impressive," Loki found himself saying, voice silky smooth and tone with the appropriate appreciation for Maw's skill. It was impressive, that was true enough, and it was quite obvious that Maw had trained for countless hours to have it appear so effortless.

"Your clones are a novelty that I have not borne witness to before," Maw said. "But so few carry the talent, let alone the imagination to make proper use of it."

Loki had spent months perfecting his copy, and it was countless months afterward that he could coordinate multiple ones as well as he did. They could move in concert or independently, with a shred of his spirit imbued in them, a singular purpose to do what he needed to do. "I am glad to bring you something new."

Maw's hands were extended in front of him, palms facing the ceiling. That meant the case, the scepter, each dust particle still swirling around his feet, each microneedle, and the Chitauri victim slowly bleeding to death for Maw's amusement, were all carried by _a portion_ of his telekinetic skill. Assuming he wasn't merely saying that to make himself look more fearsome. It was a move that Loki certainly had done before, though he didn't think that Maw would do such a thing. He seemed far too confident in himself, and the others with him were too deferential. If Maw gloried in the deaths of those he considered little better than animals, it was likely that he ruled over his team with as heavy a hand as Thanos.

They watched as the Chitauri writhed ineffectually in Maw's telekinetic grip. The needles moved, almost glittering like glass or crystal in the light, and the look of satisfaction in Maw's eyes was frightening to behold. "This isn't my best work," Maw said finally, the slightest of tilts in his head as he contemplated the dying Chitauri. "But I'm not trying to extract information or goods for our glorious Father, so it does rather take some of the joy out of it."

"Ah. You gather information, then?"

"We look for the Infinity Stones," Maw said, withdrawing all of his needles. Every single one was clean, not a speck of blood on it. They flowed like a glass river through the air to settle back into the case suspended in air. Maw folded the leather flaps and clicked the case shut. Only then did the Chitauri collapse, massive internal bleeding discoloring its skin. The missing mouth only made it look even more terrified and pathetic. Loki steeled himself to the sight, and turned his gaze back to Maw, who was sliding his case of needles back into the hidden pocket of his outfit with a nonchalant air. This was a common occurrence for him, after all, and there was nothing out of place here.

"Infinity Stones," Loki echoed, feigning ignorance.

"Immense sources of power," Maw said dismissively. "Only the most noble, the most gifted, the most powerful, are even capable of _holding_ one, let alone wielding it."

Loki gestured toward the scepter. "May I?"

Maw curled his lip. "If you can."

The magnetic pull of the scepter drew him closer, and his copies all walked into and fused with him as he touched it. Loki's fist curled around the handle, and it felt warm and comfortable. It wanted to be there, wanted to be held in his grip. He grinned at Maw, a baring of teeth, and he would never admit to anyone, even himself, that a _frisson_ of anxiety had run through him before his skin had touched the gold.

It was _alive,_ it was powerful, it was incredibly dangerous. Loki was only holding it because it wanted him to, because it didn't like Maw, and it saw Loki as a means to an end.

But that he held it comfortably gave Maw pause. The dust settled around him, and he now contemplated Loki like a scientist with a specimen. "Interesting," he murmured, eyes taking on an almost ravenous cast. Loki could feel sweat break out on his scalp. _"Interesting,"_ Maw repeated, rapturous joy in his voice. It felt like a warning, an alarm bell that Loki had to ignore in spite of the anxiety crawling through his gut. "Perhaps we should indeed talk of our skills, our _magic,_ and see what else there is in common." He watched Loki's fingers caress the staff slightly, and seemed barely able to contain his laughter. "Oh, yes, this will be an interesting conversation indeed, Loki. We will come to an understanding, you and I."

"I'm sure we will," Loki said, feeling a chill settle into his bones. The chill was creeping through him, tendrils of cold that burned at the same time, like the grip of the Jotnar that had unmasked the reality of his birth.

That cold had changed his entire life for the worse. He could only hope that this cold didn't carry a similar devastation with it.

***

Maw had an office of sorts in the area that he usually commandeered in order to further his studies into anatomy and physiology. Texts in various languages about numerous species of creatures all over the galaxy lined his shelves, and one was used as a display rack for medical tools that he had turned into torture devices. The office looked rather clinical and cold, with no obvious indication of the utter sociopathy inherent in Maw's gray form.

"I have the luxury of study, given the unique abilities that I possess," Maw said, settling at his desk and folding his hands over his stomach in a contented manner. He was watching Loki with a faintly superior aura, the slightest of smiles at the corners of his mouth. It reminded Loki of tutors he had in the palace as a young boy, bored out of his mind and hoping to escape so that he could have his magic lessons.

"Is it something common to your kind, or developed here?" Loki asked politely, waving obliquely with one hand. "This seems hardly like the place for developing a magic skill. Much of the focus is on performing well in physical combat."

"Most of those here are the Chitauri," Maw said with his dismissive tone. "They are plentiful vermin and honor death and combat. They follow the leader with no thought to their individual selves. For that reason they are useful, but no better than the war dogs we breed to die in combat for us."

"So did I find the wrong outpost, then?" Loki asked, eyebrow raised. "I can fight, of course, it was part of my training as a young child. But I think my strengths actually lie in my magic skill. It's a talent I have honed over centuries."

The expression of avarice on Maw's face was unsettling, but Loki forced himself to keep his emotionally neutral expression in place. He would give nothing away, and couldn't afford to. Too many lives relied on him.

 _I am the God of Lies. I am the God of Lies,_ Loki kept repeating to himself. It still felt unnatural, but he had to push that away. In this form he was a god, not a goddess, and there was nothing else for it. The universe knew of Loki as a Prince of Asgard, and that was the biggest lie of them all.

"Well, there are so few skilled in the art, there are few places to actually learn and study. I received the time and space because my skills edify and elevate my glorious Father. He carries himself with such nobility, bringing balance to an unruly universe. It begs, nay, _screams_ for balance, and my Lord Thanos will provide it."

Loki was even more unsettled, but he smiled with all the skill he could muster in a situation like this. "You are a child of Thanos. How did that happen?"

"I was the most worthy survivor of a worthless planet. It was decimated and then destroyed itself rather than revel in the gift of life that was granted."

"Oh?" Loki asked, curious in spite of himself.

"Infrastructure remained, of course. Half the population, half the animals. It should have been a utopia, and they squandered the gifts bestowed to them."

Horrified, Loki tried to shift the conversation elsewhere, but Maw sounded pleased with himself and with the flawed arguments that Thanos had provided. No, it seemed as though the sole purpose was to kill even more of a realm's population, so that even the sick and elderly that couldn't fight could still fall prey to blade or blaster.

Thanos worshipped Death, no matter what lies he tried to tell himself.

The Titan was mad in the worst way, for there was no way to redeem a society from such a one obsessed with and worshipful of Death. This plan of his wasn't going to bring peace and wouldn't enhance the lives of whoever survived his predations. No, it would leave the entire world rife with chaos, and it could fall further into ruin. The survivors were more likely to slide into a slower death than those Thanos directly killed, and that would only bolster his final kill count. He would kill and kill and kill, and the stink of death and destruction would follow in his wake.

"The power involved," Loki murmured, sounding thoughtful and impressed. He was, but in the worst possible way.

"Only the best for my Lord and Master, my elevated Father."

"How might I become a Child of Thanos?" Loki asked, brows furrowing slightly as he asked the question. He hoped he sounded rather innocent.

"Not all who seek the title receive it, but all who die in service to his aims are children of Thanos," Maw said, sounding far too pleased with himself. "We all seek to glorify his name, to bring the entire universe into balance."

"The universe," Loki murmured, leaning back slightly in his chair as if overwhelmed by the sheer majesty of the plan. "I haven't as lofty goal as you seem to, but perhaps one of his remnant worlds to rule would be good for me."

Maw made a disappointed, scoffing sound. "Ah, such paltry, lowborn dreams." Loki tried not to bristle at those words. "Those who are Children of Thanos have such immense purpose, such glory, such _honor."_ He laughed at Loki's still expression. "The masses out there? They lack such purpose. They exist merely to be ruled, to be cattle and herds culled when they have outlasted the need we might have for them."

"What purpose would you have for all those useless souls?"

He waved negligently at the question. "They crave subjugation, it matters not what tiny, petty dreams they think they have. They are nothing. Less than nothing. They exist, these crawling and wretched masses of drivel. Ultimately, their existence can only elevate our beloved Father, can showcase his glory, and provide the necessary raw materials for him to shape with all of his greatness and power."

"And some of that greatness would reflect upon you," Loki observed.

Maw's gaze was empty and flat, unamused by his words. "I have never failed my Master. Ever. I am one of his best and brightest, the greatest of his Children with this gift."

Loki forced a smile to his lips. "I am quite honored to speak with you, then. Perhaps we can pool our knowledge, study this magic, and elevate Thanos further."

"I have never failed my Master," Maw repeated. "We can only hope that your knowledge can be useful for his needs."

"I aim to please," Loki said thinly, forced smile straining at the edges.

He was in trouble, far in over his head, and there was no way he could dig himself out now.

***

Loki held the scepter only because Maw was interested to see what he could do with it. He could feel the draw from the mind within it, the pull of the magic as it took his measure. It was alive, which Maw would never acknowledge, and Loki kept both hands wrapped around the hilt as the gem began to glow with a pulsing rhythm. Maw had stepped back, watching him intently, and Loki had to push aside the feeling of it. He had to focus on the staff, on the gem, on the mind caught within it. This was important, this had to be done, and if he couldn't convince the staff to work with him, Maw was definitely going to take it back and lock it up. Loki knew that it didn't want that, and he understood all too well what it was like to have to hide in plain sight.

A chill rolled through him as his mind connected with the staff. The pulse seemed to reach right into his chest, and its flashes seemed to coincide with each beat of his heart.

Maw didn't matter anymore. Only the staff did.

_Freedom is an illusion. There is no freedom, only illusion, only the craving to be ruled. Isn't that better? Isn't it better not to fear the future? Something else to take the lead, to make the decisions, to take away the fear. This grand illusion isn't worth keeping._

Was that his own thought? Was the scepter really a separate object? Perhaps it didn't have a mind at all. Perhaps that was his own thought process, to try to animate an object as he had felt, trying to find a connection to something in this entire damn place.

Loki wasn't really a he, after all. It was a lie, to carry that gender like a cloak and make them see what they wanted to see. This was dangerous, even remembering this, and he had to push it down deep inside, deeper than before. The secret had to be like bone, integral and unseen, used to support his being but not ever coming to the surface.

_You're a man, only a man, only ever a man. That period of time on Metian had been nothing more than a lie, the birth of your future as a God of Lies. It was a dream, and one you should have learned from. There will never be peace for you, never happiness. There will only be this, only the stretch of forever in front of you._

_You're a thing for Thanos to play with, and you're insignificant in comparison to him. Don't try to fight it. That's part of the illusion of freedom, of hope that should never have been born. Maw knows the truth of this, see how content he is? He doesn't fight against the inevitable._

_Kneel. Kneel before the unwavering might and fury. You're part of it now, it's part of you. You are nothing but rage, and it will consume everything in your path if you let it._

And oh, how Loki wanted to let it.

Rage was easy. Rage would survive in this place, would help to catapult him out of the misery that he dragged behind him like a shroud. Loki would have power, and with that earn more prestige and mastery over others. Only then could he have peace. Only then could he truly be safe, and then he could possibly have what he wanted.

Everything that he used to be had to be pushed down deep and locked up tight. He had to be the creature he purported to be, the one full of menace and disdain for what others wanted, the one that didn't need Asgard. There was so much wasted time, all that wasted potential, all because he had wanted to be needed and held in high regard.

Fuck them all. He didn't need them anymore. They would bow down to him, kneel and beg for his mercy. It would be better to reduce them to their natural position, bent and begging for aid. Asgard wasn't the shining pinnacle of greatness, only a pale reflection of eternity. 

Loki seemed to snap out of it when the power that built up released in a blast that crossed the room and ignited the tapestry. Maw let out a dismayed sound, possibly the first time he hadn't seemed to be incredibly bored by everything at this station, and Loki seemed to shake off the dreamy haze he had been in.

But it had only been moments. Maw complained that he had just given him the scepter, how could he destroy a priceless artifact, but Loki wasn't listening. His thoughts had swirled inside his head almost uncomfortably, and he was feeling less and less like himself.

"There is power here," he told Maw, giving him a feral grin. He felt almost sick, like his insides were roiling and ready to spill out of his mouth. Still, he bared his teeth and knew his eyes flashed with greed. "And I have unlocked it. The magic is not unlike my own, perhaps that is why you couldn't do such a thing."

Maw gave him a disdainful look, but didn't refute it. He hadn't been able to make energy blasts out of the scepter, after all. He didn't think of it as magic, didn't think of it as having its own energy, a mind of sorts that could be talked to. As mad as it sounded, reacting in such a way to the scepter seemed to have helped Loki connect with its energy.

Maybe it was better to be mad, anyway.

Reluctantly, Maw agreed to let Loki use the scepter in his training and plans. "I have no such need for baubles and trinkets," Maw said haughtily, turning away from Loki. "Keep it and use its power to help you conquer your backward planet."

Eyes flashing, Loki continued to give him a crazed grin. "Oh yes, I will."

***

The Chitauri were afraid of Loki. The part of him that would have quailed at such a thing was silent, buried so deep that he didn't even know if it existed any longer. He strode through the halls of the training post and ignored the snide remarks from The Other. Maw eventually left to make a report to Thanos, and Loki hoped it would be favorable. He had appeared to be subservient enough, after all, so that had to count for something.

Loki was the one that knew how Midgard looked, and he was ready to offer it up on a platter for Thanos. The countless deaths that would lie in his wake didn't make a difference to Loki. They were just numbers, just abstract concepts. It had never been a realm he cared about, not like Thor had seemed to, and the people in that realm seemed so primitive and tiny. They weren't real to him at this point, and they weren't conscious creatures that he had to worry about. None of this was real, none of this truly mattered. What actually mattered to him was hidden, unknowable, and so secret that probably nothing could pry it out of him.

He cared about something, right? There were things that mattered. He had known about them at some point, but now it didn't matter anymore. Loki knew about rage, about determination, about having to bring Midgard to its knees. This was it, this was everything that he needed to do, and it didn't matter how he did it.

Light the world on fire, raze it to the ground, have the Chitauri and their Leviathans grind everything to dust. If he had to rule over ashes and grit, so be it. That was what Thanos usually left in his wake, for all of his platitudes, and at least Loki would have _something_ to call his own outside of the shadows.

Pulling together his magic in one of the main rooms within the training center, Loki felt something inside of his chest twist and rip. It hurt, a sharp pain like daggers, but he ignored it and continued to yank and pull. Something was building in front of him, making more Chitauri shy away from the building pressure in the room. Layers of magic wove themselves together in front of him, and it felt as if it was pulling life energy out of him, heartsblood and parts of his soul to give it substance. He'd never cast such a spell before, and it felt far different from the _seiðr_ that he was used to, and it didn't even feel as though he was creating something laced with the _spá._ The weaving might have invoked some _galðr,_ but this didn't feel like traditional magic that he had been trained in.

This was strange magic, tainted somehow, and it was twisting him in knots to materialize.

A map of sorts manifested in front of them all. The Other skittered backward and away from the room and the hazy mass of energy in the center of it. Some places were highlighted on it, and Loki could feel his consciousness shift to expand and consolidate its energy into his own. He could even speak the language of the Chitauri if he wanted, and the natural born language of the Other rather than one of the common trade tongues.

 _Here_ was the place where he would find the Tesseract, and he was drawn even closer to it now. It was a call, a pull to the strange and twisted core in his chest, a flare of desire so sharp and needy, as if it was _necessary_ to his entire being. Not for Thanos, not for safety, not for any of a thousand different excuses that he would try to name. No, the Tesseract was calling to him, it longed to be with him, and he felt as if they were made of the same stuff. Its magic resonated with his, filled the gaping hole that this odd magic was gouging into him. It was as if this odd magic was carving a hole into him to create a home for the Tesseract, that he was to be its new keeper, that he would protect it and house it and make sure that it was safe. He and the Tesseract were one, and it belonged to him in a way that the Casket of Ancient Winters never could. That was an artifact from a homeland he never claimed, but the Tesseract was an artifact of power that would complete him.

Loki was empty without it, frozen in time and lost. It would help him heal. It would seal the rifts in his soul, give him the peace he longed for.

His laughter seemed creepy and almost manic, not at all like how he used to be. But that version of himself was weak, had been ready for slaughter, had barely survived the Void. This new version of himself was stronger, a storm of death and pain and terror to inflict on others. This was how he would survive here, how he would be able to rule a new realm of his own.

The Other glared at him, perhaps thinking he was mocking him for his fear. Loki hadn't been, but allowed the Other to feel that way. What did it matter any longer? He would have an army prepped and ready to overtake Midgard, and they would know to follow his command.

"I will go in first," he said to one of the Chitauri generals in his own tongue. It startled him and the Other, who had always translated for Loki in the past. He touched the map in one area, and it lit up a brilliant blue that highlighted his body from below as he walked through the image. "Here is the Tesseract, and we can begin to manipulate their paltry forces for our own ends."

"To breach worlds with the forces we have is impossible," the Other scoffed. "The energy it would take is nearly impossible with what we have on this outpost, and you are not deemed worthy for more resources."

Loki looked up at the Other, jaw tight and entire body tense. Dimly, he was aware of the Other assessing him, taking in the crazed way he looked just then. A flash of unease in the Other's eyes, and then the mask of indifference and superiority slipped back into place.

"I said," Loki repeated harshly, "I will go in first."

"Without your army?" the Other scoffed.

The grin that stretched across Loki's face was a rictus of sick amusement and the desire to rend the Other limb from limb. "Using their own forces against them, I will take their resources to do it. The Tesseract has complex energies to tap into. I have no need of your paltry energy when I'll have the Tesseract to do it for me."

Posture stiff and haughty, the Other glared at him. "You have nothing to open a portal."

Pulling the staff from the pocket dimension that he used for storage, Loki only gave him a feral grin full of teeth. "I have what I need and the skill to do what must be done. I impressed Ebony Maw with the knowledge I possessed, that I can channel energies from this staff when even he could not." The Other grit his teeth, but didn't deny it. "I will get to Midgard, and I will prepare the way for our army. We will raze their forces, leave them helpless and ready for our Lord and Master to do with as he will. I will rule over the ashes and lead the survivors of the world to glory in the might and majesty of Thanos."

"Pretty words," the Other sneered. "You were never one of the converted before."

"You are hardly one to proselytize," Loki returned.

The Other began to say something, but Loki waved his hand dismissively. "I've been there before. I know how Midgard operates, and it will be easy enough to manipulate and conquer. Opening a portal large enough for the entire army will need energy siphoned from the Tesseract."

"Which then goes to our liege lord Thanos."

Loki shot him a patronizing smile. "But of course."

"Our armies are ready, and I think you should have your introductions to our lord Thanos."

Eyes glittering and teeth drawn back in a predator's smile, Loki nodded. "But of course."

A trade off between worlds, and the biggest manipulation and set of lies yet. Loki was looking forward to the challenge, to balancing on that razor's edge. If he was king of anything, it was of blades and edges, and the lies contained within a space of a breath. It was like falling through the Void again, darkness and fear and pain rolling together, helplessness only another knife to carve into his skin. He knew this dance, and the steps were only too familiar by now.

It was a war with himself, and one he was certain to finally win.

The End

**Author's Note:**

> Aegishjalmr is the Helm of Awe, Terror, and Shielding. It was a symbol carved into the helmets of warriors to strike fear into the hearts of their enemies as well as protect them in battle. The symbol is also associated with serpents and ice giants. More information can be found at the two below links:
> 
>   * [Mythologian.net: Aegishjalmr/Aegishjalmur](https://mythologian.net/aegishjalmr-aegishjalmur-viking-helm-awe-symbol-meaning/)
>   * [Norse Mythology for Smart People: The Helm of Awe](https://norse-mythology.org/symbols/helm-of-awe/)
> 

> 
> The songs in the audio version are:
> 
>   * Intro: [Taste (NPR Tiny Desk Concert) by Betty Who](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=3AaXv14akQc)
>   * Interludes: [Heyr Himnasmiður (Listen, Smith of the Heavens) by Ellen Kristjándsóttir (lyrics by Kolbeinn Tumason)](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=GnKIgccY09Q)
>   * Outro: [The House of the Rising Sun by Jeremy Renner (originally by The Animals)](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Mkb_3UOpGOU)
> 

> 
> The sources for the cover art images are:
> 
>   * Loki's helmet and body from the [Thor 3 trailer](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=v7MGUNV8MxU)
>   * Loki's face from an [A1 deleted scene](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=suBidlofM4g)
>   * Aegishjalmr and snakes was found on [Mythologian.net](https://mythologian.net/aegishjalmr-aegishjalmur-viking-helm-awe-symbol-meaning/)
>   * The background is a NASA image of [Comet 67P/Churyumov-Gerasimenko](https://www.nasa.gov/jpl/pia18876/welcome-to-a-comet-from-lander-on-surface)
> 



End file.
